Among the Lakes and Trees

I used to get this feeling when I saw the sign on the side of the highway… I’d be on my way back from a vacation, a weekend away, and when I’d see that sign that reads “Muskoka: Once Discovered, Never Forgotten” a feeling of relief would wash over me - I’d made it home.

I grew up there, among the lakes and trees. That little town saw all my firsts, all my milestones; I know those streets like I know the veins on the back of my own hand. It was my home for as long as I can remember.

For a long time, I thought I’d never leave. I thought I’d just stay right there in that little town my whole life. Just the thought of leaving stirred up fear in me; I don’t know what I was afraid of… of change, of the unknown, I suppose. After a while, though, the only thing scarier to me than the thought of leaving was the thought of staying. It was time for me to go.

It’s been almost 2 years now since I moved away. I’ve been back a handful of times since then, and each time I go back I’m met not with a bittersweet nostalgia, but with heaviness and dread.

For some, returning to their hometown after they’ve moved away is comforting; it feels familiar and safe. It’s a place that is always the same, just as you left it, no surprises. A place that welcomes you back as though you never left; a place you’ll always belong. For me, there is no homecoming. It’s not a returning, it’s a visitation to a place I once knew as a person I once was. I feel like an outsider; an alien. I don’t belong there.

When I go back there, it’s as though I’ve stepped through a tear in time and space where I feel like I’ve both just left and at the same time, been gone for so long. It’s strange the way a place that has barely changed can feel so different.

Going back makes me remember. I have good memories, of course, it was a beautiful place to live. I remember sunny days spent relaxing on a lakeshore or walking a meandering trail through the forest; I remember nights spent gazing up into the dark sky marvelling at the moon, constellations, planets. Amidst all the good memories, though, are reminders of people who are gone and places I can never return to.

My childhood home was sold last summer; I can’t bring myself to drive down the street. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to know who’s living there now, I don’t care what cars they drive, and I don’t want to see what flowers they’ve planted in the garden… in my Papa’s garden. It hurts to know that what was my home for most of my life is just another red brick house on a treelined street now.

The home I moved away from is gone; there’s nowhere for me to return to. The homecoming I desire can exist only in my mind and memories. I loved my childhood, growing up among the lakes and trees, but that little town isn’t my home anymore.

I keep returning for the people who remain, and I enjoy the time I spend there with them. I hope that someday I’ll be able to visit that little town and love it in a new way as a new place, without the dread, but for now, no matter how the town bustles and blooms, for me, it’s a ghost town.